Chapter XXIII: The Object on the Cliff

The days seemed to merge themselves one into the other, and, as Westy remarked, “Night did not seem to be a dividing factor in the present scheme of things at all.”

Uncle Jeb built them a canoe, showing them how it was done in true Indian fashion. They launched it in Eagle Lake, with all the ceremony one would accord some palatial yacht.

One morning quite early, they set out for a swim, leaving Uncle Jeb behind whittling some wood with which to make a new bench for the cabin.

It promised to be a very warm day and Artie and Westy had no sooner arrived on the shores of the lake than they were into its cooling waters. They shouted in pure exultation, trying to outdo one another in aquatic prowess. Finally tiring of this, they clambered upon the banks to rest.

Westy had picked up a handful of pearly white pebbles that lined the shores and started skimming them across the surface of the transparent water. Artie, meanwhile, was musing thoughtfully, eyes cast overhead, when he observed the two enormous eagles emerging from their rocky fortress and almost instantly disappearing above the clouds.

Upon hearing these miniature aeroplanes “take off,” Westy also followed their swift flight with an observant eye until the billowy clouds hid them from his view, thereupon resuming his pebble skipping.

Artie, however, kept his watchful eye glued upon the spot that the birds had so recently left. Perhaps it was the steadfastness of his vision; perhaps not; but Artie could all but swear to it that some small object was moving on the cliff. He rubbed his eyes, thinking it was the sun deceiving him.

Yes, he was sure of it now; something surely was moving. Without speaking, he simply gripped Westy’s arm, as if fearful that his voice would break the spell. He pointed above them.

Feeling the tensity of Artie’s grip upon him, Westy followed the direction of that hand in utter bewilderment.

The small object seemed to be moving on the very edge of the cliff. Now it looked to be hanging on the precipice, while the boys sat breathless--waiting.

There was a slight movement as the object revealed itself to them.

“It’s an eaglet!” exclaimed Westy in an excited whisper. “Probably just trying out its wings.”

“Gw-an,” answered Artie, as if thoroughly informed as to the eagles and their habits. “Whatcha think, a bird that size is just trying out its wings? It’s trying something you can bet on that, but that isn’t any eaglet, it’s too full grown.”

“Well, I won’t argue with you about it. I know that eaglets are pretty big birds though. I know that much!” Westy said decisively.

“It’s hard to tell from here,” Artie said sagaciously. “Whatever it is, I’d like to know what kind of a stunt it’s trying to pull off.”

“Gee, so would I,” Westy said with enthusiasm.

The minutes passed and still the stately young bird clung tenaciously to the precipice. The boys decided that it must be clinging with its sharp talons to the luxuriant undergrowth that wound itself around the cliff.

They still sat in silence and watched every move. It was swaying now, swaying dizzily, as if it was losing its grip.

“Why, I wonder,” Artie spoke up, “doesn’t he fly?”

“Search me!”

Suddenly, then, a harsh scream pierced the air as the unfortunate bird lost its hold and dropped--into the hollow just under the precipice.

Another scream; more shrill than the one before, a scream of pain--then Eagle Pass lapsed into its usual deathlike silence.